The Sorting Hat
by WildeAquarius
Summary: Twas Gryffindor who found the way, He whipped me off his head The founders put some brains in me, So I could choose instead How I like to think Godric Gryffindor came across the hat that would later become The Sorting Hat.


**The Sorting Hat**

A trickle of sweat trailed from the top of his head, down the back of his neck and then to just between his shoulder blades where it sunk in to his shirt, joining its brethren.

"Quite a holiday you've picked for yourself, Godric." He spoke to himself out loud; he hadn't seen another living soul, wizard, muggle nor even animal for at least two hours. "Africa in August. Brilliant."

There was an almost path tramped down through the brush, and Godric Gryffindor continued to walk, flipping lose pieces of his long red hair back out of his face as he wiped his brow of sweat. An unforgiving sun pulsed down on him, turning his nose and cheeks first pink, then redder and redder as the hours passed. And still he walked.

A flash of a movement caught the corner of his eye, and he stopped, searching the field of three foot high dead grass and weeds just to his left. His right arm slipped up his sleeve just a bit, his fingers resting on his wand as his eyes moved slowly back and forth over the thicket of skeletal pasture. His fingers gripped the wand intuitively as his eyes stumbled upon a large dark brown, narrowed eye staring back at him. Godric blinked and the entire body of the lion staring at him came into focus. Sleek and strong of body, his coco colored mane surrounding the taught, watchful face.

They stared at each other for several minutes, the lion and the lion like man. Godric smiled and let the wand slip back into its hiding place in his sleeve. Lifting his hand to the lion, he said "I mean you no harm," and the lion, unbelievably, seemed to understand. It settled back on its haunches and a moment later rolled onto its back, kicking up a storm of dust and bits of dry grass. His smile broadening, Godric walked on.

The thought of apparating did occur to him, but then, he liked to walk. Liked the feel of his feet hitting the Earth, the thud that rattled through him with each step, the give of the pebbles and dust under his leather soles. Even liked the sweat that matted his hair and drenched the muggle tunic he wore. Walking provided the time to think. Walking here, on a not quite a path in West Africa in August, gave him the peace and quiet to think.

The school he founded with his three friends was going well. Better, Godric had to admit, than he had ever hoped it would. The past few years had offered no instances of something the four founders had not foreseen, patterns had settled into place, daily life at school developed into routines, bad ideas falling to the weigh side.

Helga had brought in house elves for cleaning and cooking, offering them a safe haven from the abuse and battery some wizarding households held. And in doing so, turning the cold, stone castle into a warm and inviting home for the students she loved so much.

Rowena had created the moving staircases, and hidden passageways, keeping students on their toes, ever thinking, ever learning.

And Salazar… _Ah Salazar_, Godric thought to himself. Salazar, who had been his good friend for so many years, who was now becoming bitter and demanding. His growing prejudice against muggles and muggle born students tearing a rift in the family they had created.

Godric stopped walking, the sun beating down harder and hotter somehow in with his stillness. A hill loomed before him. With a deep sigh of determination, he wiped his brow with his forearm and continued his journey, with only his thoughts of Salazar as companion.

"It won't be long now," Godric spoke aloud to himself again. "Until Salazar leaves us and the school behind. Perhaps he will build his own school, one that accepts only the pure bloods he is so…" Godric stopped speaking. His feet stopped moving. He had crested the hill and discovered, to his immense relief, a large lake looming just to his right.

Running now, with the force of gravity and the promise of relief the brilliantly blue water shimmering in the fierce sun offered him. He was kneeling at the edge of the lake in moments, splashing up great palmfulls of cooling water onto his sun burnt skin, shaking his great mane of red hair back off his face, letting the water drip down onto his sweat soaked back and arms.

Laughing, he gulped down handfuls of the icy water, hadn't realized how thirsty he'd been until the first droplets hit his lips. With one last splash of water to the top of his head, he lifted himself, sitting upright, back straight and lifted his face to the sun and threw his head back with a howl of laughter in gratitude and release.

A grunt of fright came to him, and at first he thought of the lion he'd left in his wake, but then realized a lion would not make such a sound. Godric turned his head slowly, and for the first time, realized he was not alone at the lakes edge.

A man, thin with malnutrition and overwork stood three feet from where Godric knelt. He was dressed in a brown tunic several shades lighter than his skin and a large brown hat with a wide brim that cast his face in shadow. A long wooden branch over his shoulders, a clay pot on each end.

Godric held up his hands, much as he'd done with the lion, and spoke the same words to the frightened man, "I mean you no harm."

The other man tilted his head and stared at Godric, assessing him. After a moment he seemed to understand the stranger held no threat and took a tentative step forward. Godric took this as a good sign and lowered his hands slowly. The man took another step forward. Godric smiled and inwardly cursed himself for not learning the local language, as Rowena had urged him to.

"Hello," Godric said, trying to sound as friendly as possible. "Just passing by and thought I'd partake of your beautiful lake."

The man tilted his head to the other side, still observing Godric silently.

"I'll be on my way then," Godric said, still using the too friendly voice and smiling broadly. He stood slowly, rising himself to his full height; he was a good foot taller than the other man. Godric took a tentative step back toward the path.

"Eh," said the man. Godric stopped. The man waved an arm airy across the path. Then, when Godric did not move, the other man pointed directly at Godric then across the path again. Godric looked. A clay house stood a few hundred yards away, surrounded by the same dead and dusty looking weeds that the lion had hidden and then rolled around in. A long dead tree stood next to the houses back corner. "Eh," the other man said again and pointed first toward Godric then toward the house and waved airily again before starting across the path toward the house.

Godric did as the man wanted and followed him. Halfway there, the man called out toward the house and after a moment Godric saw a women appear in the door way. Not quite as deeply brown as the man, she was just as thin. The couple spoke to each other in the language Godric wished more than ever he had learned. The woman stepped from the doorway and shaded her eyes against the sun. A few steps closer and Godric saw two children crouched near the corner of the house, sticks in hand, broken branches of that dead tree, as the children looked up from their drawings in the dirt.

A small garden lined the front of the house, sprouts of weak greenery withered in the sun. The man spoke and the two children came running and each pulled a clay pot off the thick branch lying across his shoulders. It was only then that Godric realized each pot was full of water. The children watered the emaciated plants, the dry earth swallowed up the liquid quickly.

Godric lifted his hand in greeting and the woman smiled at him in return, waving her arm as a direction as she disappeared back into the house. The man walked through the doorway and Godric ducked his head and followed.

It was cooler and darker inside, away from the sun. Godric's eyes adjusted to the absence of light and he blinked, bringing the home into focus. A cold fire pit sat in the middle of the room, a square table and four sturdy looking wooden chairs in the corner. The other man pulled out one of these chairs and gestured to it, inviting Godric to sit.

Godric crossed the small room with just a few steps and sat as directed. Running a hand through his mane of hair, he looked around. Two wooden pallets lay in the opposite corner; Godric supposed they were the family's beds. The two children appeared in the doorway, one, the boy, shyly staring at the ground, the other, a girl, boldly staring at Godric with a small smile of fascination on her face.

The woman said something to the girl from behind Godric, and he turned in his seat to find her standing at a closet like structure that Godric thought must be a food cupboard. She opened it revealing nothing but a few squares wrapped in cloth. She took one out and placed it on the table in front of Godric. He glanced up at her, and she smiled down at him as she unwrapped the cloth and revealed a piece of cured meat. She smiled brighter and gestured with her fingers to her mouth, 'eat' she asked of him. The girl brought him water in the same clay cup she had watered the weak garden with.

Godric tore a piece off the lump of meat and chewed, smiling up at the woman in appreciation. It was dry and very salty, but still he chewed and swallowed and offered the larger piece to the man who had sat down at the table with him, removing his hat and setting in on his lap. Its large brim covered his bare knees and the pointed tip flopped over.

The rest of the family joined the two men at the table, the girl taking the chair, the boy scrambling up into his mothers lap. The girl jabbered on excitedly and Godric listened, not understanding a word, but pleased with her excitement in what ever it was she was saying. He laughed when her parents did, and together they shared the rest of the meat, the girl fetching more water from a barrel in the corner.

Before he knew it, the sun had moved to the other side of the sky and Godric realized he had imposed long enough. "I should be going," he said, knowing they could not understand him. And with what he hoped was an expression of great gratitude Godric stood from the table and made his way to the door.

"Ah," the man called after him, Godric stopped and turned. The man was holding out the brown hat, bobbing it up and down, _take this_. Godric held up his hands, "No, I can't really." The man shook his head at Godric's refusal then pointed at Godrics sun burnt nose and cheeks. Then he stood on his toes and plopped the hat upon Godric's head, stepped back and smiled brightly, nodding as if admiring his work.

Godric adjusted the hat and bowed gratefully. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some coins, the man and the woman both shook their heads in protest, speaking rapidly and pushing Godrics hand back into his pocket. "Please," Godric said "you've been so kind, let me help you." The man shook his head as if Godrics words were understood. And perhaps they were. With a sigh and a shrug, Godric gave in and walked through the doorway back out into the hot sun.

The family followed him back to the path, waving as he continued his journey. The man had been right; the hat provided just enough shade for his tender skin. At the top of the next hill, he turned and looked back toward the house. The man was back at the lakes edge, scoping up more water for his parched garden, the woman and boy were presumably back inside the house, but the girl, the girl still stood on the path, waving at Godric. With a tip of his new hat, Godric pulled out his wand and gave it a little wave. Even from this distance, he could see the garden spring to life, growing before his very eyes. Another wave of the wand and the dead tree began to bloom with green leaves and full of juicy oranges and apples. A third and final wave brought shrieks of excitement from inside the house, and Godric watched as the man dropped the clay cups of water and ran, overtaking the girl on the path. He knew they would find a full pantry, stocked with cured meats, cheeses, vegetables and rice, enough for several years.

Godric tucked his wand back inside its hiding place, tipped his hat once again and disapparated.

**The end**

**A/N: Thank you for reading. Please check back for the next story in my project, The Potions Teacher**


End file.
